Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland
by Shannon Vega
Summary: On Hiatus...During a battle with vamps and demons, Faith finds herself the victim of a spell hurling her back to the days of King Arthur. Not related to my Visions of Death series. Written for Knights? King Arthur? You've got to be kidding! Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Okay, folks, this has been wandering around in my brain for weeks. I'm a huge Buffy addict and I have to admit that I like the idea of a slayer going back in time--it intrigued me, especially if it was Faith. So, here's the deal, it's not my normal story and has no relation to any of my other King Arthur stories. I live for reviews so if you like, please review. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter One: Chanting**

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Faith pulled the stake out of the vamp in front of her and glanced over her shoulder. Why, oh why, she wondered, did I agree to come to Cleveland? She'd been here before, long before she headed to Sunnydale and took her walk on the dark side. Back when she was just a baby slayer and suddenly had every baddie hunting for her.

Back then she'd sworn that she'd never set foot in Cleveland again.

But here she was, fighting side by side with Buffy and the baby slayers.

She could hear chanting in Latin and she started to worry. No, dozens of vamps and fledglings didn't worry her but chanting in Latin did. Jeez, getting weird in my old age, she decided.

Buffy was duking it out with one of the masters. Apparently they'd interrupted a conclave of master vamps with their party crashing. And the older slayer wasn't paying attention to the chanting.

Faith started running for the chanting demon, flinging stakes at the vamps who reared up towards her, dust clouds marking her progression.

Have to get to the demon, she thought as she ran. Have to stop him.

The demon looked up in surprise as a fist connected with his jaw. He tumbled backwards, still holding the book he head been chanting from.

"Nice try, scumbag," chortled Faith, standing over the demon.

The demon glared up with his yellow eyes at the dark-haired slayer and spoke a word in Latin.

Then, suddenly, Faith wasn't there anymore.

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Faith landed hard on the ground, rolling with the impact as she tried to keep from breaking anything vital. She might be a slayer but traction still hurt like a bitch. When she finally came to a stop, Faith lay on the ground, trying to get her bearings.

Okay, step one: figure out what the fuck happened. Well, demon boy was chanting and turned his attention on me, she rationalized.

Okay, step two: figure out where the hell I am. She slowly sat up, wincing at the bruises which were already healing. It was sunny and, oddly, no smog. The air actually tasted clean. Faith frowned. The only time she'd even come close to smelling air this clean was when Giles had sent her to collect a slayer in training in Denmark. And even then the air had still smelled of some pollution.

Okay, so obviously somewhere where gasoline and coal don't make an appearance, she thought slowly getting to her feet. She began to check herself. Stakes? Check. Big ass sword inherited from Angel? Check. She swallowed a lump as she remembered the dark vampire who'd helped redeem her from her darkness. She shook her head, clearing her vision and her thoughts. No time for mourning, she reminded herself. Collapsible crossbow? Check. Arrows? Check. Apparently wherever she was, whatever had transported her hadn't thought to take her weapons.

Good for her, bad for them.

She checked her clothes. Jeans had taken a beating but that was to be expected. Wherever she was, it was chilly, too chilly for the black mesh top and bra that she was wearing. She rubbed her barely covered arms, trying to look for landmarks. Gee, maybe I should pull a Red (or rather White) and go ask for directions, she snorted. She started up the hill, slayer senses tingling. Fuck spidey senses, slayer senses were so much better.

Wherever she was, it was severely underdeveloped. No QuikStop, no 7-11s, nothing recognizable. Hell, there wasn't even a road. Not unless you counted the track that looked like hundreds of horses had torn into the ground.

She looked up, trying to gauge how much time she had until sunset. Maybe a few hours? She started forward, jogging towards what she half-hoped was civilization. Wherever she was, she had to get back to the fight. Buffy and the baby slayers were gonna be toast for those masters and that demon.

That thought alone hurried the slayer's steps.

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Giles frowned and looked up from the goo-covered book that he had been handed by an agitated Buffy. "And you are certain that the book was turned to this page?" he asked.

Buffy nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for her Watcher and friend to give the verdict. "So we can get her back," she whispered.

Giles frowned, pulling his glasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbing the throbbing spot between his eyes. "Buffy, this is old magic."

Buffy waited. "But we can get her back," she repeated more firmly.

Giles sighed. "Buffy, had you been sent back with this spell, you would have never made it home."

Buffy gasped and sat down, her knees having buckled beneath her. "No."

Giles shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"NO," repeated the blonde slayer, getting to her feet and glaring at the Englishman. "We are getting Faith back."

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Faith held onto the bottom of the cart, gritting her teeth as the wheels rolled over bump after bump, slamming her against the undercarriage of the cart. This was, however, the best way into the biggest structure around, a real, honest to fucking God castle. Well, maybe not a castle like in Sleeping Beauty, but it sure as hell looked like one of the castles in England that Giles had insisted on dragging her to since she'd turned back to the light side of the force.

There were armed soldiers who were dressed up like Romans. Hell, she'd seen Rome enough times to recognize the bearing and the dress. Yup, pole up your ass Romans, as she liked to call them. And lots of Latin.

It took a while but years of Catholic school and Giles's training began to kick in and she got the hang of the Latin. Wes would have been proud of her. She closed her eyes, silently cursing h erself for once again reminding herself of someone dead. She turned all her attention to holding onto the underside of the cart.

And getting inside the fortress.

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TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: This takes place after the final seasons of both Buffy and Angel. And, please keep those reviews coming. This is kind of new territory for me (I don't write about Buffy even though I'm an addict) and it means a lot for you to be reading and letting me know what you think. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Two: Reality**

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Faith frowned. This was not going to be as easy as she had originally imagined.

First off, she was apparently somewhere before the advent of cell phones. No signal, no service, and her phone was pretty much only good for the games on it until the battery died. That and there was no running water aside from the river to one side of the fortress and no toilets.

Commune? she wondered. Nah, those are real swords and real wounds on those soldiers, she countered silently, watching as a soldier was lifted down from the horse he had been riding.

She paused, looking at the men on horseback.

They were oddly familiar.

Faith stepped a little closer, careful to still keep to the shadow of the alley she'd taken refuge in. She frowned. Very oddly familiar since she didn't consort with armor-clad warriors. Well, unless you counted Angel, but his armor had been that black coat. She smiled as she remembered him without pain. Back to the guys in front of her. Where had she seen these guys before?

It hit her like a ton of bricks. They were King Arthur and his Sarmatian knights. From the fricking fifth century. She took a steadying breath. I've been cursed into a movie? Brown eyes narrowed. Oh, that demon better have been smoked by Buffy or she, Faith, was going to turn him into sushi.

The men were dismounting and Faith moved farther back from the men, dropping deeper into the shadows.

But someone noticed her movement. Tristan, of the dark eyes and the messy braids, watched his hawk turn its head towards the alley, golden eyes watching the darkness. Tristan's gaze followed that of his hawk and he spotted….a woman? He frowned. And then she disappeared from his view, almost as if the shadows had swallowed her whole. He started towards the alley.

"Tristan!" called Gawain. "Come, let's check on Lamorak. "

Faith watched the scout turn from his forward advance and instead follow the golden-haired knight. The slayer let out a shaky breath. Okay, time to take stock again. There were more than seven knights, including Arthur, so that meant that it was before the actual movie. She shook her head. Can't believe that I got tossed into one of Dawnie's favorite movies.

Dawn had decided to do a slayer watcher movie night and had made them all watch King Arthur. Of course it had turned into a discussion of battle tactics and historical accuracy, but none of the slayers could avoid feeling for the knights. After all, they were sworn to a duty that they hadn't chosen, had to kill to stay alive, and would likely die before they ever had their freedom. The fact that Dagonet sacrificed himself for the others hit Buffy pretty hard, the pretty blonde crying silently at his death scene.

Faith knew that the giant's death had meant something. That couldn't be said of all deaths. But then for Lancelot to die because he was chasing a piece of ass he would never get and for Tristan to job to Cerdic--that was unacceptable. She'd stormed out of the house after the credits rolled, taken a few drags off a cigarette, and bolted for the nearest cemetery, itching to hunt a few vamps.

And, now, she who was neither Willow the magic genie nor Buffy the ubercool blonde bombshell, nor even Giles of the "answers right this minute as soon as I get my books out", was in the fifth century. With the knights.

I'm twenty-seven and the idea of being around the knights has me weak in the knees. She shook her head, marveling at the fact that she'd sunk to new lows. Lusting after imaginary men. God damn Robin and his wandering eye. It was his fault that she was like this.

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Giles wiped his glasses on his shirt. Around him, the Scooby gang had reunited to try to pull Faith from wherever she had been sent. The spell that the demon had been casting was complex and more than dark. He had Willow and Kennedy researching. Buffy was training with Dawn, since the slayer had decided that she was more use getting ready to go in for a rescue than poring over dusty tomes.

Lorne, the green skinned, red-eyed demon, had popped in for a spell and never left. He was currently on the phone, his melodious tones soothing whomever was on the other end of the line into giving him information. And Xander was poring over plans for the building where Faith had disappeared, hoping for some clue as to how Faith had been magically "poofed".

And what was he, Giles, doing? Wondering how he was going to tell Buffy that he'd been able to decipher the spell beyond his minimal translation of before. Giles had been correct in his first assessment: it was very old magic and powerful. The words themselves were an archaic demon tongue, one not easily translated. It was, in fact, a spell to transport a body to an alternate reality. Or, more precisely, to replace the first of one's line with the person it was cast upon in another reality. In effect, Faith had replaced her own ancestor, though it was in another reality stream. To bring Faith back to the future would possibly render her an anomaly of time and space and the slayer would blink out of existence. All of her actions, both good and bad, would never have happened.

And likely the First would have won.

Giles started down the stairs to the vaults beneath the mansion that the Watcher Council had purchased in Cleveland, Ohio. He could hear the thunks and thuds of sparring practice and the soft "whoompfs" that accompanied being hit. He stepped into the cool open area that had once been a wine cellar and watched the slayer and her sister practicing for battle.

Buffy caught sight of her mentor and called the practice to a halt, watching with amusement as Dawn staggered to a chair and dropped into it. "Giles, what have you learned?" she asked, starting towards the Watcher.

Giles sighed. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. It was as I first suspected, a variant on the…"

Buffy held up a hand to stop him. "Giles, in English?"

The older man smiled, pulling off his glasses and again wiping them on his shirt. "I'm afraid that we might not be able to get Faith back," he admitted.

Buffy's blue eyes hardened and she turned to her sister, the younger Summers gaping at the news. "Dawnie, go upstairs. Giles and I have to talk."

Dawn nodded and headed to the stairs, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the slayer and watcher, the two squaring off.

Once Dawn had left the cellar, Buffy crossed her arms over her breasts. "Okay, now tell me why we can't get Faith back."

Giles crossed to the chair that Dawn had vacated and dropped onto the cushions. "She's taken the place of an ancestor. Someone that long ago gave birth to one of her line. Though it is possible that it is an alternative timeline."

Buffy glanced pointedly at the weapons that she had set down. "Giles, again, in English. The cliff notes version."

Sighing, Giles leaned forward. "If we bring her back to our time and place, she may cease to exist."

Buffy gaped at her mentor. "You're serious."

Giles nodded.

"Well paint me yellow and call me a taxi," she muttered. Once again meeting her friend's hazel-eyed gaze she took a deep breath. "So what do we have to do?"

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Tristan took a sip of his ale, dark eyes sweeping the tavern. Another brother, gone. Lamorak had been a good knight and a good friend. It was not fair that so close to their goal, to freedom, that the copper-haired knight had fallen to the Woads.

But they would pay. For each drop of Sarmatian blood they shed, Tristan always extracted tenfold. That would come tomorrow. Tonight there was mourning to do.

Tristan knew that Arthur was replaying in his mind over and over again the battle, what could have been done differently and how he might have been able to get to Lamorak before the Woad's axe could bury itself in the knight's chest. Lancelot, on the other hand, was brooding and drinking. Gawain and Galahad were both quiet, neither seeking the company of the pretty girls that hovered about them. Dagonet was always, or nearly always, quiet and the giant was cradling one of Bors's bastards in his arms, rocking the child to sleep. Tristan thought it had to be two, since the child could toddle about and had a mop of red hair similar to its mother. And finally, Bors. The eldest of them, Bors was holding onto Vanora as if he would die without her touch.

Tristan pulled an apple out of his jerkin, brown eyes inspecting the green skin. It was perfect and Lamorak had offered it to the scout earlier. Tristan had just not had a chance to eat it before Lamorak had fallen.

To you, brother, he thought as he bit into the apple. May you find the peace in death that you so yearned for in life.

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Faith shifted uncomfortably and tried to look harmless. Food and shelter were two things that even a slayer could not go without and it wasn't exactly like there she could just start tracking down baddies for profit. She'd worked and been in enough bars. And with the gown that she'd stolen from the castle's laundry replacing her black pants and shirt, she at least no longer looked like something out of a Hot Topic catalog.

Vanora swept her brown eyes over the dark-haired girl before her. There was a hardness about the girl, a girl who'd told her that her name was Faith. She didn't seem like a prostitute and Vanora had certainly seen enough of those in her days at that tavern.

"You can start tonight," advised Vanora, turning her attention back to the infant in the cradle.

Faith nodded and took a closer look around at the tavern. "Thank you," she offered.

Vanora nodded then frowned. "Do you have a place to stay?" The red-haired mother lifted the baby to her shoulder, cooing at the infant boy.

Faith shook her head. She had actually intended to sleep in the hayloft of the barn for another night. Not warm and not particularly comfortable but at least it was out of the weather.

Vanora smiled gently. The dark-haired girl seemed lost even though she was determined to show a hardness. "There's a room at the back. It's not much but it's clean and has a bed."

"I'll take it," interrupted Faith, suddenly looking very grateful. "Thank you."

Vanora nodded. The mother of eleven motioned for the slayer to follow her and Vanora, carrying her son, guided Faith through the back of the tavern to the room.

It was indeed small. A narrow cot rested against a wall, a bureau and a chair the only other furnishings in the room. Faith smiled. It was larger than her cell at the women's prison that she had broken out of all those months ago. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Vanora blushed. Wherever this dark-haired girl had come from, she seemed thankful for the slightest kindness. "I'm grateful to have another girl to help," she admitted. She let her eyes wander over Faith's figure. "Is that all that you have?"

Faith nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am."

Vanora smiled. "I believe that we might be able to find you some new clothes. And if you'd like, I have some soap that you can use."

Faith grinned. "Again, thank you. A bath would be lovely. Where can I bathe?"

Vanora pointed out the window towards the river. "No luxuries, I'm afraid, but the river is not too cold."

Faith nodded again. She'd done with far worse. "I'll take you up on that offer."

Vanora's face scrunched up in confusion.

"I'd like that. Yes, let me borrow your soap," translated Faith.

Vanora shifted the baby in her arms. "Then I shall leave you to settle yourself. I'll send down the soap and some clothes. Why don't you rest?" she suggested, the mother noting the way the slayer seemed to sway with exhaustion.

Faith smiled and moved to the cot, climbing onto the narrow mattress and dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewer:**

BleedingTwilight: Thank you for giving this a chance. I know that it's not like my other stories but the fact that you are willing to ride along with me on this means a lot. Agreed, Faith later in the series was far more interesting as a character. Here's hoping that it gets a bit more interesting in coming chapters. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you for continuing to give this a chance. It's a bit of an oddity, but then again most of my stuff seems a bit odd. Please, review. I really do live for reviews and they also let me know if I'm heading the right direction. Oh, and if you do not agree with something I'm writing, let me know. I'm not out there to squick my readers. Thank you. Now, on to the show. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Three: Wake-Up Call**

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Vanora groaned and handed Eleven to his father. "Hold him. I have to go get the new girl."

Lancelot, who had been listening, grinned. "Ah, a new girl?"

Vanora nodded, though she looked less than happy that Lancelot had taken an interest in the conversation. "Yes, Lancelot. She's taken Irena's old room and she's been asleep for most of the afternoon. I was just about to wake her to begin working."

Gawain leaned forward. "Really? Where does she come from?"

Vanora shook her head. "She did not say. And I did not ask," she added.

Lancelot had risen from his seat and grinned at the tavern owner. "Not a worry, Vanora, I'll wake her."

Vanora began to protest but Lancelot had already left the main room and was headed down the hall. "Hope she knows how to defend herself," muttered Vanora as she took Eleven back from his father.

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Lancelot tapped on the door for a moment before pushing it open. There was little light in the room since no candle had been lit and the only light coming from the last rays of the sun. There was a shape on the narrow cot and Lancelot grinned. He'd had fun with Irena before the blonde had married the baker and he certainly hoped that Vanora's new wench would be amenable to the same arrangement.

He could hear her breathing, the sound soft and even. Walking towards the bed, he took in the shape. She was lying on her side with her back to him, wearing a gown that Lancelot thought had once belonged to Vanora. He seated himself on the bed and trailed his fingers from shoulder to hip, tracing the curves of this woman.

"What are you doing?" growled the slayer, coming abruptly awake at the touch of the knight.

Lancelot chuckled and leaned forward, placing a kiss on her exposed neck. "Waking you."

Faith suddenly rolled towards him, throwing Lancelot off the mattress and to the floor as she slammed into him. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, towering over the now-prone knight. "Thank you," she growled, running a hand through her slightly frizzy curls. That was what she got for going back to bed after washing the grime off her skin in the river. "I'll thank you not to wake me again."

Lancelot grinned up at the dark-eyed girl. She was perhaps a little shorter than Vanora but had the curves that he liked. "Your pleasure is my pleasure," he purred, slowly getting to his feet.

Faith arched an eyebrow and shook her head. "Sure." She straightened the gown and stepped through the open door. "Nice meeting you."

Lancelot followed the new serving girl, watching the sway of her hips beneath the gown. He grinned, already plotting his seduction. Stepping into the tavern room, he headed back to the table where his fellow knights were sitting. Already the knights were watching the new serving girl.

"So, what's her name?" asked Galahad, nudging Lancelot in the ribs with his elbow.

Lancelot frowned. He hadn't thought to ask for a name.

"Her name is Faith," grumbled Vanora, once again handing the baby to Bors. "Now none of you is to interfere with her, is that understood? She's here to work, not warm your beds." With that, Vanora flounced off towards her newest employee.

Gawain stroked his chin, watching as Vanora started giving instructions to the dark-haired young woman. "I think that she'll be coming back to my rooms, boys," he announced softly.

Bors glanced at the tawny-maned knight. "If you wish to earn Van's wrath, be my guest. She likes the girl for some reason." The broad-chested knight cradled his son.

Lancelot glared at Gawain. "She'll be coming home with me."

Suddenly a tankard was slammed onto the table, a few drops of ale spattering Lancelot's face. "I'm not coming home with any of you," growled Faith as she began to lay out the cups of ale. "Now, order up."

Galahad blinked. "Excuse me?"

Faith sighed. "What would you like to drink?"

The men quickly gave their orders and Faith headed back towards Vanora, shaking her head. She'd gotten the impression that waiting on the knights was a big honor, if the glares being shot her way by the other serving girls was any indication. She had to wonder why she'd been so honored.

Vanora quickly set drinks on Faith's tray. "You're doing fine."

Faith sighed. "Yeah, five by five."

Vanora blinked. This girl had an odd way of speech but she seemed like a genuine girl and one without the goal of seducing one of the knights. "Five by five?"

Faith smiled. "Yeah, good to go? Happy as a clam? Um, just fine, thank you."

Vanora chuckled. "I like your speech. But how can you be happy as a clam?"

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Buffy groaned and laid back on the bed. It had not been a good day. Giles had been on the phone for the last three hours with anyone he could think of. Willow, her now-white hair in braids, had been scrying for any sign of Faith in vain. And Lorne had been tapping into his network of demons, spirits, faeries and other supernatural creatures for a sign of the former rogue slayer.

Nothing. Not a hint of Faith Lehane. It was as if she had never existed.

For a moment Buffy wondered if Giles's concerns about changing history were valid. But nothing had changed. She still remembered the hard-headed slayer. Still remembered Faith holding the line after one of the Turok-Han had stabbed Buffy. So the past hadn't changed.

But how were they going to get her back? Buffy may not always like or agree with Faith, but the slayer had trod the path less traveled by Buffy and had come back to fight for the forces of good. Together they were the two oldest slayers alive. Two girls who had cheated death so many times that there were demon odds makers who ran odds on their survivals in every engagement. Needless to say it was lucrative for those demons since someone was always ready to bet on their deaths.

A tap on the door and Buffy opened her eyes.

"Giles."

Rupert Giles stood in the doorway, looking concerned. He'd abandoned his glasses hours ago since talking on the phone did not require being able to see. "Buffy, it's not your fault."

Buffy sat up, shoulders slumped. "Sure, Giles. I convinced Faith to come to Cleveland. She didn't want to come but she did because I asked. And then I decide to crash a vampire club and she gets cursed into an alternate dimension." She looked up, blue eyes hard with anger. "So it's so obvious that it's not my fault."

Giles felt his jaw tense. This was one thing about his slayer that still bothered him after all their years together--her tendency for self-flagellation. "Would you have done anything different?"

Buffy glared. "That's not the point."

Giles shook his head. "That's exactly the point, Buffy. Faith stopped the demon from casting it on all of you. The spell requires being able to see the target. Would you rather have had the new slayers cast into the alternate dimension?"

Buffy shook her head.

Giles crossed to the bed and sat down next to the slayer. "Buffy, how many times have you died saving the world?"

Buffy sighed.

"She's not dead, Buffy. Just somewhere else. And we will find her and make sure that she is safe."

Buffy looked up at the Englishman. "Promise."

Giles nodded. "Promise.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewer:**

BleedingTwilight: So glad that you're still enjoying. Yup, laid back is the best way to deal with weird stuff. And I'm glad you like the way the Scoobies are pulling together. I think you might be right though about Faith not wanting to go back. Ah, thank you. I thought it might be a little weird for Tristan to be eating an apple from Lamorak but I'm so glad you liked that. Thank you. I kind of think that with all that Faith has been through, she's probably the most likely of any of the Scoobies to thankful for small blessings. Here's more and more is coming.

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	4. Chapter 4

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your reviews! You all are wonderful, wonderful people. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Four: Patrol**

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Faith quietly clambered down from the hayloft, her weapons now tucked into their sheaths and tied to her body. It had been busy at the tavern and her slayer senses had tingled all night. Which meant that somewhere around was a vamp.

She dropped soundlessly to the floor of the stables, brown eyes alert. It was late, the moon was high, and she was about to pull her first fifth century patrol. She looked down at the mesh shirt and jeans that she had once again put on. This was definitely not something she could be seen in, she thought with a silent chuckle. Might put someone into convulsions.

Slipping into the shadows, she began her hunt.

The pull in her belly that always signaled the unnaturalness of the vampire was getting more pronounced. She hurried her footsteps. She could hear a struggle up ahead.

Stepping into the same alley where she had watched the now-dead Lamorak being returned to the fortress, she found a vampire pinning a girl to a wall. It was one of the serving girls from the tavern. The girl who had gone home with Lancelot. What in the name of all that was holy was this idiot girl doing out in the middle of the night?

"Ah, sweet, just as I like them. Your blood is strong."

Faith sighed and reached out, tapping the vampire on the shoulder. "Is this a private party or can anyone play?"

The vampire spun to face her, letting go of the wench. Unfortunately the girl was too terrified to run. "What do you want…Slayer?"

Faith nodded and grinned. "I wanna play."

The vampire lunged at her and they tumbled to the ground, wrestling for a moment.

Separating, Faith got to her feet and pulled one of her stakes. "Don't you know that it's not polite to neck on the first date?"

The vampire swung his fist, connecting with Faith's jaw. The slayer stumbled back then kicked out, slammed her boot into the vampire's jaw.

"Run!" Faith called to the girl and was satisfied when she saw skirts racing out of the alley.

"You took my dinner," growled the vampire.

Faith shrugged. "Afraid you've already had your last meal." Slamming her stake into his chest, she grinned as he exploded into a cloud of dust. She tucked the stake back into her belt and began to dust the vampire remains from her shirt. "Damn, can't they clean up after themselves?" she muttered.

In the shadows, Tristan watched. There was more to this serving girl than she had shown before. Interesting.

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"Um, Giles?" called Willow, the witch poking at the watcher's shoulder.

Giles groggily straightened in the chair he had fallen asleep in. "Oh, good morning, Willow," he offered sleepily, his voice having a bit of a gravelly rumble to it. He glanced at the window that graced the kitchen and frowned. It was still dark. "What are you doing up?"

Willow arched a white eyebrow. "I'm not the one who fell asleep in the kitchen. I have a question."

Giles nodded, raking his hands through his graying curls. "Go on."

Willow shifted nervously. "If Faith was swapped for someone else, what if we can find the person she was swapped for?" She tugged on a pearly braid. "I mean, if the spell works by sight, why couldn't we just say the spell to her replacement and get her back?"

Giles rubbed his eyes and nodded. "It could work. Any suggestions how to find Faith's replacement?"

Willow frowned as she thought. "Blood calls to blood. Can you get Faith's blood from the Council?"

Giles nodded, standing. It would be eight a.m. in London. Perfect time to call and terrorize some poor clerk into doing his bidding. "I'll get right on it." He picked up the receiver and glared at the witch. "And go to bed."

"Yes, Giles," yawned Willow as she left the kitchen.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Thank you. So glad that you like the fact that Faith isn't trying to jump anyone. Yay! We're keeping in character! Excellent. Here's more and please, please, please, keep your wonderful reviews coming. And please, tell me if I've gone off the deep end at all.

Samantha/Anime Princess: So glad that you like this King Arthur/Buffy crossover. And I'm so glad you like the idea of Faith being the one to go back in time. You liked Lancelot's assumptions? Excellent. Yay for liking the fact that Vanora befriends Faith. And good question as to whom she replaced. We'll find out soon. I promise that it's not Gueneviere. I agree, if Faith slept with Arthur, it would be like her sleeping with Angel. And that would squick me. We'll see if she ends up with anyone. And here's more. Oh, and keep your reviews coming, 'kay? I live for them. And, no, I'm not kidding. Thank you.

Saxongirl345: So glad that you like the beginning. I absolutely rooted for Faith from the first time she showed up on Buffy, even when she was pure sociopath. Feel free to tell me if I'm going off the deep end, 'kay? I love your stories and know you won't steer me wrong. **grin**

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	5. Chapter 5

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Apologies but I'm also addicted to the "Bring Me The Head of Prince Charming" series. So, yes, you're not imagining about the name of Faith's ancestor--it is the name of Azzie's witch. BTW, your reviews rocked and I just want to say, keep letting me know what you think. And never think that I don't want to hear what you have to say. I wouldn't ask for reviews if I didn't want to know your thoughts. _

Latin in modern portions: _italics_

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Five: Decision**

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Giles frowned, looking at the vial of blood. Inside this glass container was the essence of a slayer, one who had trod both the light and the dark. Would her DNA be enough to find the replacement?  
Willow held her slim hand out for the vial and stared pointedly at the watcher.

Giles nodded and released the vial to Willow, who quickly unstoppered the vial and poured some of its contents into a bowl. "I'll leave you to your scrying," advised Giles, stepping from the white-haired witch's room and heading back into the hallway.

Buffy was waiting, her expression expectant. "And?"

Giles shut the door, shaking his head. "We must wait."

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The dark-haired girl took a steadying breath, thankful that whatever had pulled her from her home had left her well-armed. Wherever she was, there were creatures of the darkness just like at home but more plentiful. She crept forward, the stake in her hand reassuring. She'd already interrupted two of the undead as they tried to slaughter a girl younger than her in far more revealing clothing.

The light of the church seemed to draw her forward and Ylith quickly ascended the stone stairs to the door, pushing the door open and slipping inside. The altar gleamed with gold and ivory and she stood for a moment, dumbstruck. Wherever she was, it was a land of riches untold even in the fine city of Londinium.

She stayed along the wall, close enough to the door to escape if necessary, and smiled. Consecrated ground was safety and would give her time to figure out this world she'd found herself in.

"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?" called the young priest, approaching the slayer.

Ylith frowned. The language sounded like Saxon but he didn't look like a Saxon. His hair reminded her of the Caledonians, the locks thick and coppery. His skin was freckled and he had green eyes. Definitely not Saxon.

"_Where am I?_ " she demanded in Latin.

The priest halted. Latin? The girl spoke Latin? No one save his students or fellow priests even learned Latin, let alone spoke it with the ease he heard from this girl. He frowned and quickly pulled to the fore the Latin that he had learned as both a boy in school and at the seminary. "_You are in New York_," he answered quickly.

The girl frowned and tightened her grip on the stake in her hand. New York? How in the name of God had she ended up in New York? She'd been in Vindolanda, not this New York. She frowned at the priest. He looked like the priests from home. "_Where is this New York?_" she demanded.

The priest's frowned again. "_It's in the state of New York, in the country of the Unites States, on the planet Earth_," he explained patiently. If he had a wacko he had to keep her calm before he called the men in white coats.

He hadn't expected her to pass out.

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Faith groaned and rolled over. The bad thing about slaying in the fifth century was that she couldn't exactly go to the club, pick up a random guy, then go back to his place for wild monkey sex. Instead, she dusted vamps then came back to her room and tried to forget the horniness that always came after she wasted a few undead.

Maybe she should take Lancelot or one of the knights up on their all-to-blatant offers of dancing the horizontal mamba with her.

No.

She sat up. She needed to do something physical. Sex was out of the question. So she needed to come up with something else to do. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she quickly rose and dressed in the clothes that Vanora had kindly provided. The dresses were serviceable and somewhat plain but they hugged her body without restricting her movement. Her only complaint was that she was actually a little shorter than Vanora so the skirts brushed the ground instead of falling just below the ankle.

She slid the window open, the breeze from outside the room chilling her. She ignored it and clambered out, dropping silently to the ground outside. She needed to blow off steam. She started towards the main courtyard.

A heavy bag would do.

But what could she use?

The stables beckoned and Faith slipped into the home of the horses, her eyes searching for an acceptable substitute for her heavy bag at home. She grinned as she spotted a heavy bag of oats. She tested the fabric with a punch. It was sturdy, the weave tight and new. It would do.

Now for something to suspend it with. She did a quick search and found a rope. Thank goodness for slayer strength and agility, she thought as she suspended the bag of oats from the rafters above the riding ring.

She dropped back to the dirt of the ring and approached her creation. She slammed her fist into the bag, reveling in the vibration that raced up her arm, telling her the punch had been solid. More punches followed. She kicked out, her foot thudding solidly into the bag. Then knees and elbows.

Finally spent, Faith stepped back from the bag. The bag looked decidedly worse for wear. She climbed back up to the rafters and untied the rope suspending the bag above the floor. The bag dropped softly to the ground, as did the slayer. Soon she had undone all evidence of her late-night practice and tucked the rope and the oats back where it had been.

After all, it wouldn't do for her to leave behind a mess.

She chuckled softly as she headed back to her room, suddenly feeling a great deal more relaxed.

And Giles would be so proud of her for cleaning up after herself.

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Tristan took a bite of his apple, watching Faith as she joked with Vanora. That Bors's lover had taken so quickly and easily to the newest serving girl was a surprise. Usually Vanora was more cautious around new women, as if she was concerned that they would be competition for her affections. Usually she was correct and quickly asserted her dominance over the other women in the tavern.

That, however, did not seem to apply to Faith. For one thing, the dark-haired girl had never led any of the knights to believe that she wished to warm their beds or any part of their anatomies.

This had left Lancelot heartbroken for perhaps an hour. Then the lothario had tugged another serving girl onto his lap, whispered something in her ear that had the girl giggling, and left soon after to satisfy his urges. The others had also turned their attention to the other serving girls, much to the consternation of Vanora. The red-haired tavern owner had scolded not only her employees but also the knights for distracting them.

In other words it was a normal night at the tavern.

Though he still had not decided what to do about the dark-haired girl.

His duty told him that he should tell Arthur about this strange child with her dark hair and near naked form prowling the alleys of Vindolanda. Another part, the part that clung to his homeland and their ways, kept him from speaking of her secret to his commander. The monster that she had killed had been about to kill another, a girl who, while not innocent, certainly did not deserve to be a monster's meal.

She was not harming anyone.

If she did, he would take care of her.

Decided, he returned to his apple.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Bless you. I'm so glad that you're enjoying that I'm being a fiend about updating. Now if I can only urge my muses toward some of my other stories. Sigh. And I'll try to throw as many roadblocks at Willow as I can. Just for you. Grin.

Samantha/Anime Princess: Yay! We stayed in character. So glad that you are enjoying. And, as promised, we're finding out about her ancestor. And no, you are not plaguing me with questions. You are letting me know what I need to explain so that it makes more sense. Yup, Tristan knows. And seems like he's holding off on that. We'll see what happens.

BornWithAFever: Yup, I'll admit that it is a different story than most. And thank you for liking it so far. I know that I could have just concentrated fully on the ancestor part of the story without stating that she'd gone into a movie. You're right, it might have been better. As to why Faith is in a movie verse, think of it as if King Arthur was a documentary capturing actual historical events. In some kind of reality, it might be. And Faith has found herself replacing someone from that alternate history. I can understand preferring a person going back in time not knowing about the movie. In most cases I am the same. You're right, Faith never would have watched the movie on her own. She indeed considers it Dawn's favorite movie, not hers. The way that I'm treating it is that she was transported into an alternate reality where the movie is the real history. So glad that you're enjoying and I promised another reader to update with another chapter on this and my Who Wouldn't Want A Sarmatian story, so there will be more. And I took your suggestion and we're going to learn more about the person that Faith replaced. :) Thank you. And, please, keep the reviews coming. I wasn't kidding when I said that I live for them.


	6. Chapter 6

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback. And thanks for letting me know that you're enjoying. As always, reviews are at the end of the chapter. _

_Italics:_ Latin in modern times

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Six: Job Description**

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Jols stared mutely at the oats that had spilled from the tear in the bag. The bag had been brand new. He'd set it in the stores only the afternoon before. What could have destroyed this bag?

For destroyed it was. It dimly reminded the squire of one of Bors's foes after the barrel-chested knight had been playing with his fist daggers. The only difference was that there were no slashes by a blade. No, this was all damage done by a fist.

He sighed. If the knights wanted to punch a bag, all they had to do was ask.

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Father James Corcoran looked down at the girl lying on the couch in his quarters. He wasn't sure what to do with her. He'd carried her from the chapel where she had collapsed to his rooms and was now waiting.

Patience had never been a virtue he'd been good at practicing.

He rolled his cup of coffee between his palms and looked, again, at the girl. She was wearing something he might have expected at the renaissance festival in Tuxedo. Her legs were encased in a set of pants that looked suspiciously like real leather. Her feet were shod in a pair of comfortable looking boots. And her torso was wrapped in some kind of wrap shirt that bared quite a bit of cleavage as well as belly.

He sighed.

Would she wake up anytime soon? He glanced at his watch. It was three o'clock in the morning and in a few hours he would be presiding over morning mass for elderly widows and young mothers. He frowned. He didn't want to leave this girl alone. Not when he wasn't sure if she would do harm to herself. His frown deepened as the girl on the couch began to move, tossing in her sleep.

He moved from the chair he'd been sitting in to crouch at her side. "_Miss, you're having a nightmare_." He touched her shoulder with what he hoped was a comforting grip. A fist slammed into his jaw and he tumbled back onto his buttocks, rubbing his jaw. For a tiny thing she packed one hell of a punch.

She was awake, dark eyes looking at him suspiciously. "_Who are you?_"

Father James rubbed his jaw, popping it. "_Father James Corcoran. Nice to meet you. And before you ask, you are still in New York. Where are you supposed to be?_"

The girl twitched and pulled herself into a tight ball on the couch. "_Vindolanda,_" she replied softly. She watched for any reaction and was disappointed when the blank look remained.

He grinned as a thought came to him. He moved to his desk, to the computer, and quickly typed in the name she had given him. His eyes widened as Wikipedia spat out an answer. Roman Britain? He glanced at the girl, who had an expression of curiosity on her face at the contraption he was typing on. "_What year is it?_"

Ylith looked at the man as if he were truly crazed. Perhaps the monsters of this place drained sanity as well as blood? "_It is the year of our Lord 467."_

James blew out a breath and let his head fall into his hands.

Honestly that was not the answer he expected.

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Tristan arched an eyebrow as he watched a leather bag being suspended from one of the rafters to the side of the practice arena. Jols was directing one of the stable boys in the hanging of it and the scout wondered what the squire had come up with this time. Deciding to investigate later, he proceeded to draw his sword and practice the art that had served him so well for the last fifteen years.

The other knights soon joined, each pairing up save Arthur, their commander having been called to a meeting with a visiting Roman commander from Londinium.

Something about a string of recent deaths in Londinium was the topic of the meeting. Apparently the Romans were concerned that the murderer might be traveling towards the north and the wall. Though he had some suspicions that those murders had been related to the monster that the girl Faith had killed. He wondered yet again if he had made the correct decision in not telling Arthur what he had seen.

What would his Roman commander make of the girl? Would he think her some monster for hunting monsters?

She had gone out every night, climbing out of the window in her room and stalking the alleys and shadows of Vindolanda. He had always been a creature of the night and shadows as well, finding his peace when his brothers were asleep. It had seemed only natural for him to shadow the barmaid. After all, he reasoned, he had a responsibility to make sure that his decision not to tell Arthur would not cost another their life.

Squaring off with Gawain, each man testing their fighting styles against the very different one of the other, he forced his mind to focus on the tawny-maned knight. As he blocked and parried, swung and advanced, he noted that his brother knights seemed to be itching for action.

It had been days since Lamorak's death and they had still not left for a proper patrol, that being defined by the knights being away from the fortress for several days. Instead, they had done quick reconnaissance missions within a day's ride of the fortress. Tristan had still gotten his quota of revenge in those short missions, his blade always bloody and his quiver empty by the time they returned to the fortress.

But soon they would have to go on longer patrols or Arthur would be throwing at least one Sarmatian in the fortress's dungeon or ordering floggings. Or Arthur would begin to punish himself for his perceived sins and failings.

Yes, all around it would be better for the knights and their commander to be doing something productive and far from the constricting walls of Vindolanda.

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Vanora sighed, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.

"Hey, V, who rained on your parade?" asked Faith, once again sending a silent thank you to Sister Mary Margaret for beating Latin into her brain. It was funny. She used to curse the plump nun who wielded a ruler like Jason Varitek with a baseball bat.

Vanora looked up glumly. "The knights are going on patrol in the morning," admitted the tavern owner.

Faith nodded, setting down the cup that she had been drying on the counter, and walked to the table where Vanora was seated, perching her hip on the tabletop. "Just means they'll come back all the quicker."

Vanora cocked her head to one side, crimson hair falling in a sheet over her shoulder. "Are you always so certain?"

Faith shrugged. "Part of the job description."

Vanora shook her head. The girl's language was beyond strange but she claimed to be from a village far to the east. "Well, part of our 'job description' is getting ready for the men who will wish to drink their heart's desire."

Faith grinned at the older woman, though Vanora was likely not much older than the slayer. "Then we better get off our asses and start getting this place ready to rock."

Vanora allowed the smaller woman to help her to her feet and raised an eyebrow. "Rock?"

Faith grinned and rolled her hips in a decidedly provocative manner. "Rock."

Vanora chuckled. "I'm not sure that we're ready to 'rock.'"

Faith shrugged, though her smile widened. "Never know until you try."

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Buffy stared down at her fingernails. She needed to get a manicure. Her nails were looking decidedly ragged.

"Buffy?" came the soft voice of her watcher.

Buffy looked up, seeing exhaustion edging at the hazel eyes of her friend. "Any news?"

Giles shook his head and stepped into the kitchen, heading to the refrigerator. "Apparently Faith's line was, um," he scratched his neck as he tried to find a polite way to phrase it, "prolific." He glanced at Buffy, the blonde slayer smirking. "The problem is narrowing down the ancestor since the blood sample merely lets us know of her blood relations."

Buffy nodded and picked up the soda that she had been sipping, making a face as she realized that it had gone flat. "So her family is a bunch of bunnies and we need to weed through them?"

Giles pulled open the refrigerator door and snagged the box of pizza that was resting on the top shelf. Cooking had gone to the backburner in the manse while slayers, watchers, demon and witch tried to determine the whereabouts of their onetime rogue slayer. "Precisely. It should be simple enough. After all, I'm sure that her alternate reality ancestor is not fitting into this world."

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Gawain frowned and took an experimental swing at the bag. His punch connected and rocked back up to his shoulder, earning a grin from the leonine knight. However, the bag swung back with the force of the punch and Gawain had to scamper backwards.

"I think we need to hold it," offered Dagonet, stepping behind the bag and grasping it in his hands.

Gawain nodded and began a series of punches, hair and sweat flying.

"Alright, Jols, where'd you come up with this?" asked Bors, leaning against the practice ring and watching Gawain pummeling the leather bag.

Jols gave Bors a fisheyed look and motioned to the bag. "Better to have you lot hitting that than tearing apart bags of oats." The squire strode off, leaving a bewildered Sarmatian in his wake.

"What was that all about?" asked Galahad, watching the normally even tempered squire heading off in what could only be described as a snit.

Bors shrugged and filed it away to be reviewed later.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

Bleeding Twilight: We'll try to get Buffy to be patient or at least stymied. And, yes, poor Ylith. Though I'm kind of feeling sorry for the priest at this point. And so happy you liked Faith not succumbing to Lancelot. Yay! And, don't worry, Tristan will eventually confront our slayer. Oh, the fireworks. (evil grin)

Kim: Thanks for reviewing. I appreciate any and all feedback and I love that you are enjoying the slamming together of the Buffyverse and King Arthur. And thank you. I appreciate being told that it's well-written. It means a heck of a lot to me. Again, thank you.

Anime Princess: So glad that you're enjoying the fact that Ylith ended up in New York, of all places. Yup, had to stay true to Faith's whole sexual component. And you like Tristan being conflicted? Excellent. And you like Lancelot being "heartbroken"? Again, excellent.

Gargoyle13: So glad that you like the concept. You're right, Lancelot vs. slayer--especially Faith? We could sell tickets. Don't worry, we're seeing more. And finding out more. And we're not dropping any of the threads. Hopefully.

Pastel Shades: So glad that you're enjoying. And I'm also glad that you like that it's Faith who got pulled to the King Arthur reality. And here's two chapters. I got a little creative.

BornWithAFever: No worries. And thanks for pointing out that it wasn't clear. There's a reason I ask for reviews. So, thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank you for saying that Faith is keeping in character. And so glad that you like the idea of Tristan and Faith.


	7. Chapter 7

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you so much. And thanks for all the wonderful reviews. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Seven: Dreams**

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Wait, what was Tristan doing back?

He was on patrol with the other knights.

And why was he stalking towards her like some great cat?

Faith backed up, suddenly remembering that she was face to face with a man who had a past as shadowy as her own, at least if the movie was to be believed. A man who had seen possibly as much darkness as she. A man who right now looked completely capable of ripping her head from her shoulders. She shivered as her back collided with the wall.

Tristan let his palms rest on the wall on either side of her shoulders, pinning her in place. The smile he offered her bordered on feral as he stepped even closer, pressing her closer to the wall. He let his head drop down, his nose nearing her throat as he inhaled her scent.

Faith held her breath as he--_smelled_ her? The situation almost had her laughing, except for the fact that his thigh was set between hers. He wasn't letting her have any room--her entire world had diminished to him. Which was completely unnerving. "Guess you found out I'm the slayer," she offered lamely. Best to try and get this back on a rational footing--before it spiraled completely out of control.

Tristan nuzzled her ear and felt her sharp intake of breath. Lifting his head, he looked down at her, fixing his brown eyes on hers. "Yes," he whispered, his thigh pressing against her until he heard her gasp. "The slayer," he agreed again, his mouth now inches from her throat.

Faith gasped when his mouth made contact with her throat. Her hands, which had been clenched by her side, rose to clutch his shoulders. She wasn't sure if she was trying to stop him or not. That seemed to involve thought--something for which she seemed to have no talent at the present. "Sorry," she whispered as he nibbled the column of her throat.

Tristan chuckled. He nipped her flesh, reveling in her soft moan, before he gently drew he flesh into his mouth to suckle it.

Faith arched under him. He was giving her a hickey. God's gift to a sword was giving her a hickey. Time to nip this in the bud, so to speak. "I have to go back," she squeaked, tightening her hold on his shoulders as he explored her throat.

Tristan pulled back, the pupils of his eyes practically consuming the velvety brown of his eyes. "No, you don't," he ground out.

Faith rocketed up in bed, her hand moving to her throat. Figures that she, who had a living icing creatures who bit people on the neck, would dream about getting bitten. Freud would have a field day.

And since when did she dream about Tristan?

Covering her face with her hands, the slayer dropped back onto the mattress with a groan.

Yay for prophetic dreams.

May they all suck for all eternity.

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TBC...

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	8. Chapter 8

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you so much. And thanks for all the wonderful reviews. Responses to your wonderful comments are at the end of the chapter. And, please, keep those reviews coming. They are inspiring and also help me to keep on target to write more. Thank you. _

_Italics:_ Latin in modern times.

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Eight: Naked Twister**

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Tristan watched Faith. She looked as if someone had walked over her grave. She kept casting nervous glances at him and then touching her throat as if to confirm that it was unmarred. Had she finally heard of his reputation? He doubted that was the reason. It was well-known that Tristan had no compunction in doling out injury or death to his enemies. He sipped his ale, wondering why this girl who hunted monsters looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. What had changed? They'd ridden in just after the midday meal, to the accolades of the fortress's residents.

Vanora and every serving girl in the fortress had been present.

But Faith had not been there.

It had been Lancelot who had commented on it, wondering if the newest barmaid had taken up with one of their Roman overseers in the Sarmatian absence. Any question as to that possibility had been answered by the continued pursuit by the Romans. If one of the Roman dogs had bedded her, the others would defer to the one to whom she would belong.

Lancelot had once again eyed Faith with possibility in his eyes, only to have the dark-eyed girl quirk a brow at him and quickly guide one of the more willing serving girls to his lap.

Tristan wondered if the other knights realized that their evening's entertainment was being orchestrated by the dark-haired girl. She had indeed tried to send several of the girls to entertain himself and those brave enough had been sent away with a quiet dismissal. No, she would not orchestrate the scout.

And that seemed to frustrate the dark-haired girl to no end.

She would likely go hunting this evening just as she always did.

And he would be watching.

Ready to help, if needed.

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Giles glared at the maps that the infernal machine otherwise known as a computer spat out. "There are at least ten cities here."

Willow nodded, rising from the chair in front of the computer and stepping to the watcher. "Yup. Those are the strongest links to the blood you gave me. Of course that doesn't mean that any of the hot spots we picked up on have someone from another dimension." The young witch sighed. "Could just be a close blood relation."

Giles nodded, already spreading the maps on a nearby table, hazel eyes inspecting the maps for something that would stick out. Oddly all of the hotspots were in major cities, though none of them were Cleveland. "We have Chicago, New York, Cincinnati, Boston, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Baltimore, Kansas City, and a few others. Any suggestions on where to start?" He looked up at the witch, who was winding a white lock around her finger.

Willow sighed. "I say we start at the closest one from here. I think that you and Buffy should go."

Giles straightened and pulled off his glasses, wiping the lenses on his sweater. "And what will you lot be doing here?"

Willow nodded towards the sleeping demon on the couch. Lorne had been up all night pulling in a lot of favors talking to associates with connections to the police. "We're hitting the psych wards. If you'd come from another dimension, don't you think someone would think you were crazy?"

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Faith pushed against the leather bag, a smile forming on her lips. Jols was an angel. She would have to do something nice for him. Maybe get him laid. She was sure that one of the sweet merchant's daughters would be more than happy to oblige the squire.

But that would be later, she decided. Now was the time for her to practice her fighting when it didn't have any lives depending on it.

Punch.

Swing.

Kick.

Block.

She struck the bag, seeing in her mind the smirk of Tristan. He'd declined every single girl she'd managed to bribe or cajole into approaching the scout. He'd been polite, sure, but he'd turned away every single damn one of them.

What would it take to get that scout a woman?

That thought bounced around in her brain interminably as she continued her one woman sparring session.

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Ylith looked up at the priest then down at the clothing he was offering.

_"It is a boy's."_

James sighed, running a hand through his carroty hair. _"Yes. But it's a little more…normal than what you're wearing."_

Ylith looked down at her clothing then at the jeans and t-shirt that the priest held out to her. _"I like what I wear now."_

The priest blew out an exasperated breath. _"You cannot go around in leather pants and that top. People will think you're a hooker."_

Ylith arched an eyebrow. He'd previously explained that particular vocation. _"Then they will be educated otherwise."_

James sighed again. This was not going well. _"Ylith, is it?"_

A nod.

_"Ylith, while your current appearance is very fetching, let's just say that we're not in the best of neighborhoods and I'd hate for something to happen to you."_

Ylith nodded and took the clothing, inspecting it. _"Why are you in not the best of neighborhoods? Are not usually priests in luxury?"_ That was the custom of her priests. They lacked for nothing, though this often led to their corruption.

James gave a short barking laugh. _"Not this priest. I didn't comfort to some of the activities of the church and got sent here as punishment."_ He moved to his desk, sorting through his papers. "I'm a little outspoken," he muttered in English. He made sure to keep his back turned to give the girl a semblance of privacy.

Ylith quickly stripped off her clothes and pulled on the clothes given her by the priest. She had to admit, they were comfortable. The fabric of the pants was blue and was obviously well-worn. The shirt hung off her, baggy and shapeless. _"You can turn about now, priest."_

James nodded and turned around, eyes widening as he took in the transformation. She looked like a normal twenty-something girl. _"An improvement."_

Ylith shrugged. _"May I ask a question?"_

James nodded.

_"Why are you helping me?"_

The priest sighed. _"I used to take in strays. Cats, dogs. Injured birds. Call it force of habit."_

Ylith nodded. It was as good an answer as any.

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Vanora tugged on the strings of her apron, releasing the now stained garment from her waist. Sighing, she glanced at the devastation that had been wrought by two of her sons. "When I get ahold of you two, you'll be scrubbing until the end of time!" she cried to the empty air, knowing that her children were somewhere nearby.

"Talking to yourself? People might talk."

Vanora looked at the dark-haired girl. She looked better than she had the past few days. Vanora'd been certain that something had spooked Faith and that she would find the spare room vacant one morning. Instead Faith seemed to have put whatever demons haunting her behind her and was once again the picture of happiness. Well, calmness at any rate, amended the redhead. "They already do. And what are you doing awake so early?" It had become well known that Faith rarely woke before the noonday meal.

Faith shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Got a question for ya."

Vanora raised an eyebrow. Faith was not known for asking questions. Doing, yes. Questioning, no. "If I know the answer, I'll tell you."

Faith nodded, snagging an apple from the table and polishing it on the wool of her gown. "What's the deal with Tristan?"

Vanora gasped. Of all of the men, Tristan had been the last that she'd have thought Faith to ask about. "Why do you ask?"

Faith shrugged again. "He didn't like any of the girls I sent his way," she answered.

Vanora shook her head. The redhead had learned her lesson about matchmaking when it came to the scout long ago. "I wouldn't try setting him with anyone, Faith. He's got a reputation for a reason."

Faith chuckled. "Yeah, well, I'd know about reputations. I ain't some lily-white maiden in need of rescuing. And I don't see a monster when I look at him. He does a job. Hell, if he didn't do it as well as he did, he'd have ended up in that cemetery with that fine piece of hardware sticking out of the ground." She took a bite of the apple, mulling over her comments as she chewed. Swallowing, she grinned at her employer. "And damned if that wouldn't have been a loss of prime grade a beef."

Vanora gaped at Faith. "You find him…attractive?"

That earned another chuckle. "I'm not saying that I'm going to throw him down and play naked twister with him any time soon, but I'll admit that, different time, different place, wouldn't mind getting to know him a little better."

"Naked twister?" wondered Gilly as he crept away from where he'd been eavesdropping on his mother and the serving girl.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: You're not kidding. Release might not be the only thing that Faith needs, but it's pretty high on the list. So glad you liked Jols's little moment of ill humor. And, yes, that sex addiction had to come from somewhere. And with lots of relatives, makes Willow's job just a little harder. See, ask and ye shall receive. Glad that you like the fact that Tristan is watching her from afar. And, again, you're right. He would be far more approachable if he weren't the Sarmatian wallflower. However, with Faith focused on him, he can't hide in the shadows for long.

Samantha/Anime Princess: If you were going to have prophetic dreams, having Tristan giving you a hickey ain't a bad one. And, yes, it should be interesting since she's got her slayer senses on high alert. And, yes, poor priest is now dealing with the realization that he's taken in a violent madwoman or time traveler. Neither option is very good, is it? As requested, here's more. And don't worry, more is coming. It has to with all of your great comments, doesn't it.

BornWithAFever: So glad that you enjoyed the last two chapters. I admit that I'm having fun with this story. It's definitely different than my other stories, which is a good thing. Here's hoping that you continue to enjoy.

Opera 14: Thank you but I can't take credit for the idea of this story. It was actually a challenge I stumbled upon and I couldn't resist the idea of seeing how Faith would react in another time and reality. So glad that you're enjoying and I promise that more is coming. I'm having fun writing this story and thankfully it's coming relatively quickly. Don't worry, more is coming.

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	9. Chapter 9

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Well, we finally moved into our house but were without internet connection for (counting on fingers) four days. My apologies for the dearth of updating. I will now rectify. And since we now have internet back, I'll be publishing again with hopefully the previous frequency. Thank you for your patience. And thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews. This story would neither be published with the quickness it is nor be the same story without your input. As always, responses to your wonderful comments is at the end of the chapter. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Nine: Teasing**

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Bors took a sip of his ale and sighed, savoring the flavor after a long sparring session. The other knights had not yet arrived at the tavern but it was settling into a normal night. His lover was corralling children towards their rooms, using her sweet voice to threaten them into submission.

"Da?"

Bors looked down at his son and grinned. "Gilly. Aren't you to be abed with your brothers and sisters?" He hauled his son onto his knee and ruffled the boy's dark hair.

Gilly nodded but looked puzzled. "Da, what's naked twister?"

Bors frowned. "Where did you hear this?" The naked part he could suss out, but _twister_?

Gilly motioned towards the rapidly approaching serving girl named Faith. "She was talking with Ma. She wants to play it with Tristan."

Bors nodded sagely and set his son back on the floor, sending the boy scurrying towards his mother with a swipe to the seat of his breeches. "I'll ask her. Now get."

Gilly obligingly hurried towards Vanora, who sent her lover a thankful glance before hurrying the children to the upper level of the tavern.

"Hey, Bors, how's it hanging?"

Bors cocked his head to one side, a perplexed expression directed at Faith. "How is what hanging?"

Faith shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. She constantly had to remind herself that her slang was a little out of place. "Never mind. Can I get you anything?"

Bors shook his head as well. "No need. I have a cup of ale and a full pitcher. By the way, what is naked twister?"

Faith gaped at the man and failed to notice that the pitcher on her tray was sliding towards the edge until it had begun to drop. Cursing, she grabbed the pitcher, silently thanking her slayer speed and agility. Turning her attention to the oldest knight, she sighed as she realized that she'd managed to once again make herself the center of attention. She leaned forward until her mouth was a tiny space from his ear, grinning. "Naked twister is sex, Bors. Though I think you already knew that. What with eleven children and all." Straightening, she sashayed off, hips swaying provocatively.

"You can't have her, Bors. Vanora'd kill you," advised Dagonet as he dropped onto the bench across from Bors. He'd seen the look on Bors's face before. It had been the expression that Bors had when he'd first met his feisty lover. And he didn't think that Vanora would agree to share her lover, nor would Faith agree to the arrangement either.

Bors shook his head, watching as Faith's hips moved under Vanora's old dress. Oh, to be young. "No. But I think she's got a hankering for our scout."

Dagonet arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Taking a gulp of the ale, he turned his blue eyes to watch the serving girl. She seemed to be deep in conversation with Gawain and Galahad, though the scarred knight was too hear the content. Whatever they were talking about, it had Faith laughing. And that sound was heard far too little. Dagonet wished his younger brothers in arms luck with the dark-haired girl.

"You'll come home with me, won't you, Faith?" pleaded Galahad, hauling the serving girl onto his lap.

Faith chuckled and patted his dark beard. "Galahad, I like younger men but I think that you need to find a pretty little thing with a sweet tooth."

Gawain chuckled and hauled Faith into his own arms, leaving Galahad to pout. "Then you need to marry me, don't you, Faith."

Faith laughed again. "Gawain, Gawain, Gawain, I'd hate to have to tame the lion." She tugged good-naturedly on one of his braids before wriggling out of his arms. "Now, what can I get for you boys?"

Galahad grinned. "You on a table?"

Faith shook her head and lightly smacked the top of his head with the tray she was carrying. "To drink?"

Gawain's blue eyes twinkled. This was a fun game. And Faith didn't seem to mind their sometimes lewd teasing. "I could think of a few things to drink," he offered, blatantly running his eyes down her body.

Faith arched a brow but her smile widened. These men would be so much fun in her time. The women of the twenty-first century would eat them alive. "Ale it is for the two of you, then," she announced, heading back towards the bar.

Gawain fell back against his younger friend laughing. "Ah, she's fun."

Galahad rubbed the top of his head. "Aye. Almost like a little sister."

Gawain narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Please tell me that you didn't talk like this to your little sister?" teased the golden knight.

Galahad blushed. "Four brothers, as you well know. No sisters. Near broke my mother's heart."

Gawain nodded and settled onto the bench beside his brother in arms. "Soon we'll be free," he murmured, eyes on the sky visible through the open courtyard facing the tavern.

Galahad sighed. "Aye. Then we can go home."

Gawain nodded, not saying anything. What more was there to say?

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Buffy set her suitcase on the bed and sighed. They'd managed to already go through three of the cities, Giles driving since he didn't trust his latest car to the slayer. Now they were in Chicago, having completed the search on Kansas City, St. Louis and Minneapolis, though not in that order. And in another hotel.

"Yes, Willow, I know that this is not an exact science," agreed Giles, rubbing the spot between his eyes that had ached since they had checked into the hotel. He didn't bother to add that he'd been practicing magic since well before Willow had entered puberty, though the thought crossed his mind. "And we'll keep you updated on our progress."

Buffy lifted out her clothes from the suitcase and stepped to the particleboard dresser provided by the hotel. Laying them in the drawer, she turned to face Giles. "So, how'd their search of the local nuthouses go?"

Giles sighed, laying his glasses on the bedside table. "Nothing. No sudden admissions of patients claiming to be from the past, the future, or another dimension." He rolled his neck, wincing as it popped. "We'll start our search in the morning. Thank you for letting me use your room phone since mine was inoperable," he added, rising from the chair and starting towards the door.

Buffy shut the drawer and met her friend's eyes, their hazel depths visible due to his lack of glasses. "No problem. Oh, and Giles?" She waited until he had stopped and faced her. "Thanks. I know that I'm not the easiest person to do a roadtrip with."

Giles shrugged, hazel eyes twinkling. "You're far easier to travel with than Ethan, Buffy Summers."

Buffy growled and launched a rolled up pair of socks at the older man, Giles quickly slamming the door shut to avoid her missile. His laughter could be heard in the hallway as he headed towards his own room.

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"I want to name them."

Bors turned over to face his lover, who was levered up on one arm. "Why now, Van?"

Vanora sighed. "Because you're about to be freed from service to Rome. And for thirteen years they've not had names. It is time."

Bors frowned. "Love, why change now?" He sat up, wincing as the muscles in his back protested. He was getting too old for the long patrols that were a part of his service to Rome.

Vanora sat up to face him. "Bors, I love you. The children love you. I want all to know they are yours and that you cared enough to name them."

Bors sighed. He wasn't going to win this particular argument. "After I have my papers. Then we'll name them all."

Vanora nodded. It was the best she was going to get.

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Yes, naked twister. And she did say that she didn't want to do it anytime soon, not that she wasn't interested in playing naked twister with Tristan. We'll see what happens with Faith's plans for the scout. So glad you like her conversation with Vanora. Don't worry, I'll explain why Vanora's leery of matchmaking the scout soon. And, yes, Gilly needs to learn to no longer eavesdrop on women. And thank you. I don't care if you say it every time, it's wonderful to hear that you're excited to see the next chapter. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And more is coming.

Samantha/Anime Princess: Yup, the women are banding together. And, yes, poor Gilly is learning a lot of new slang. Here's more. And thank you. It's wonderful to hear such enthusiasm for the next chapter.

Anghel Ni Kamatayan: I don't think any of us would mind playing naked twister with Tristan. Thank you. Here's more and more is coming.

foxyloxylegolas: Glad that you like the naked twister. And it's gratifying that I'm not the only one who uses that particular phrase. So glad that you are enjoying and may you stay giddy.

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	10. Chapter 10

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: I am so sorry that I'm taking so long to update. My normal writing time is being beaten into oblivion by the fact that my two-year old daughter Michelle doesn't want to sleep in her own bed, won't sleep if I don't go to bed at the same time, and is going through the terrible twos. I'll try to update as quickly as I can but I can't make any promises. Thanks for being so understanding. And, as always, responses to your wonderful comments are at the end of the chapter. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Ten: Devastation**

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"The Woads are restless," offered Tristan, his tone measured and careful.

Arthur nodded, his near-perpetual frown deepening. It was to be expected. As surely as the seasons changed the Woads always attacked in the warmer months. And the spring was almost upon them. "Bishop Germanus will arrive in three months. And all of you will be able to go home."

Tristan hesitated before nodding. There was no point in advising Arthur that it was likely that none of his knights would survive to receive their papers.

Arthur straightened behind the table strewn with maps and scraps of parchment. "We ride at dawn. There is a rumor of Saxons near the coast."

Tristan stilled. Saxons. "I shall prepare the others."

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Vanora whimpered, pressed against the brick of the alley. Why, oh why, she wondered, didn't I have one of the stable boys take out the scraps? But she hadn't, which was why she was now at the mercy of this very drunk Roman.

"Come on, love, give us a kiss," crooned the Roman.

Vanora winced and turned her head away. Blood already dripped from her mouth and her cheek was swelling.

"Oh, so good enough for a Sarmatian but not good enough for me?"

A feminine clearing of the throat interrupted whatever other thoughts the Roman had. "Vanora, you're needed inside," announced Faith, dark eyes watching the Roman.

Vanora nodded and tried to move away from the wall, only to be shoved back hard.

"You're not going anywhere, Sarmatian whore. And you," he pointed to Faith. "You can come and suck my cock."

Faith raised an eyebrow and started towards the Roman, hips swinging. "Tempting offer," she replied, brown eyes sweeping from head to toe down the Roman before slamming her fingers into his neck, stopping blood flow to the brain. "But we'll both pass," she added, watching as the Roman slumped to the ground.

Vanora stared wide-eyed from the Roman to Faith. "What did you do?"

Faith shrugged. "Knocked him out." She stepped to Vanora, her manner suddenly that one would use with a scared child. "Come on, Van. Let's get you cleaned up."

Both women hurried from the courtyard behind the tavern, the drunken, and now unconscious, Roman forgotten in the mud.

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Kennedy flopped onto the bed beside the witch, her eyes closed as she listened to Willow's pen scratching against the surface of the notebook she kept beside their bed. The witch at least wasn't using her laptop in their bedroom but she was still pondering how to retrieve Faith from wherever the slayer had been sent.

"Any clue how to get her back?"

Willow looked up from the spell she had been writing to meet her lover's eyes. "None," she admitted softly. "But we will."

Kennedy nodded, rolling onto her side. "Will, what if she doesn't want to come back?"

Willow arched an eyebrow. "Why would she not want to come back?"

Kennedy shrugged. "I don't know. But what if she finds a mission? Look, there are millions of slayers now. Wherever she's at, that's not the case. She's still looking for redemption."

Willow nodded.

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"Saxons," muttered Galahad.

"They claim only what they kill," murmured Lancelot.

"And kill everything," added Gawain, blue eyes sweeping over the devastation that they had found. Villages burned. Bodies hacked to bits. Any man, woman, or child who could ever hold a sword slaughtered.

The only person left alive had been a decrepit old woman, grey hair hanging in ropy strands and eyes white with blindness. She'd told the tale of the Saxons invasion. A raiding party intent on taking whatever was of value and slaves. Then they'd disappeared back to their ships and the sea.

"They're getting bolder, Arthur."

Arthur glanced at Bors, the eldest of the knights shifting in his saddle. "I know, Bors." Turning, he caught the dark gaze of the scout. "Tristan, ride ahead."

Tristan gave a curt nod and kneed his horse away.

The other knights watched as the silent scout rode away, their thoughts on the destruction that was the order of the day in the southern coastal villages.

"They keep this raiding up, there will be nothing but ashes on the coast," murmured Dagonet. He'd been the one to tend to the old woman since he was the most adept at the healing arts. It had drawn the scarred knight from his usual quiet.

Bors nodded.

TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Thank you. And I'll try to be better about updating. Really. I just have to convince my daughter that she needs to sleep in her own bed and also that Mommy doesn't have to go to bed at the same time as a two year old. Now, poor Faith is right! I think you've nailed it that Bors won't give the slayer any peace about that particular topic. Thanks for saying that Gilly's behavior was spot on. Yay! And so glad that the scene between Gawain, Galahad, and Faith was fun. As to Bors procrastinating on the naming of the children, I think you're right--he's got a better shot of remembering with more time to memorize. Again, thank you.

Saxongirl345: So glad you liked the dream sequence and the naked twister conversation. Yay for enjoying the Gawain, Galahad and Faith scene! Thank you!

Anime Princess: So glad that you enjoyed Faith's lighter side. And how she seems to fit in with the boys. I think that I'd pay to see Faith and Lancelot duke it out. Don't know if she'll be around for the battle. More is coming though it's coming slower than usual since the move. Here's more, though. And loving your story.

Anghel Ni Kamatayan: So glad that you enjoyed the scene between Faith, Gawain and Galahad. And I wish it reminded me of high school--bless you for saying that it rang true. And, yes, I'd whack Bors upside the head as well. So glad you're still enjoying. Thank you.

Ariel DeLoncray: So glad you're enjoying. And here's more.

HellCat's Punk: Yay! So glad that you liked the naked twister bit. And it just means that you have a creative mind that you immediately could picture that particular activity. Here's more and I'll try to update as quickly as possible.

IzzyBeaver: So glad that you're enjoying. And so glad that this has caught your attention. More is coming and so glad that this is a good read. Yay!

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	11. Chapter 11

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author__'__s Note: Thank you so much. Thank goodness for mothers-in-law who keep my daughter over the weekend so that I can write without interruption. And thank you to all of you who reviewed this story. It kept me knowing that you were enjoying and inspired me to write more. Thank you. As always, responses to your wonderful reviews are at the end of the chapter._

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Eleven: Penalties**

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The sound of shouting from the alley drew Vanora's attention, her head turning in response to the sounds beyond the tavern.

"Van, calm down," ordered Faith, the slayer laying a calming hand on the redhead's shoulder. Her dark eyes followed the sound as well--the sound of drunken Romans finding their comrade unconscious in the yard. Faith could have killed him and would have in other circumstances. But years spent in a California penal institution and Lorne's own version of therapy had taught her to think through consequences. And dead Roman would have equaled dead Vanora since Vanora was the last person seen with the drunken bastard. Right now, though, she had her boss to calm down. "He's so drunk they'll think he just couldn't finish the deal. Now sit."

Vanora nodded wordlessly and took the seat her friend motioned to. "You will be a target."

Faith grinned, envisioning some good old fashioned Southie retaliation if the Romans were stupid enough to come after the slayer. She moved to the dishes that she had been scrubbing with brushes and lye soap and once again began to attack the wood bowls and iron pots. The stuff burned her nostrils and left her hands dry and tender but Slayer healing was a thing unhindered by Dark Age cleaning methods. "Bring it on. Better they come after me than you," she added. Faith watched Vanora wiping a damp cloth over the crusting blood on her cheek. "When does Bors get back?"

Vanora looked up sharply. "A week. Maybe more." The tavern keeper set the cloth down on the tabletop. "You will not tell him."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "I won't have to with those bruises, Van."

Vanora waited, expression expectant. "I want your word, Faith."

Faith set down the pot that she had scrubbed clean and stepped to the table. "Ya know, back home my word doesn't mean much."

Vanora sighed. "Faith, you have given me no reason to doubt you excepting that. If your own people do not respect your word, then they are fools. Do I have your word?"

Faith watched the red-haired woman. She was serious. "You have my word. I will not tell Bors about either the attack or that I knocked the bastard out. Satisfied?"

Vanora's next action shocked the slayer. Suddenly she was engulfed in a hug that would have cracked her ribs had she been a normal girl. "Thank you," came the soft murmur. Vanora stepped back from the serving girl. "And be careful, Faith. The Romans are not to be toyed with."

Faith arched an eyebrow, once again ushering Bors's lover back to her seat. "Neither am I."

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The fire crackled, only Arthur awake and on watch. Tristan had gone off scouting into the darkness, leaving his Roman commander to tend the fire and guard his comrades from the dangers of the forest. Arthur reached forward, the stick in his hand poking the embers and bringing the flames back to a roaring blaze.

The commander cast his emerald eyes around the campfire, watching the sleeping men who followed him. Bors was snoring fit to shake the pillars of heaven, his chest rising and falling steadily. Near him was the oldest knight's best friend. Dagonet was stretched out and turned on his side, one of his large hands still wrapped around one of the healer's magnificently lethal axes. To the other side of Dagonet was curled Galahad, the youngest of his knights wrapped up in his bedroll and sound asleep. Near him lay Gawain, the leonine knight sprawled on his back and his blanket tucked up to his throat.

Then came the bedroll empty of the scout. Sometimes Arthur wondered when Tristan slept. In fifteen years the wild-haired warrior had clung the tightest to the memories of home and spoke the least of it. Long before Arthur took command of the Sarmatians, Tristan had already proved himself a formidable warrior. And a man who seemed to never sleep.

That was not the case of the occupant of the next bedroll, however. Lancelot, second in command and best friend, was snoring softly where he lay on his side.

In a few short months they would all be released from service. His men would return to Sarmatia and their families. And he would return to Rome and his surrogate father, Pelagius. They would return to the lives interrupted by service to Rome at Hadrian's Wall.

Arthur's joy was tempered. They had built a family of sorts in these fifteen years. He knew these men better than any of his own blood kin. He understood his men. He'd bled with them, tended them, laughed and mourned with them.

In three months that would be gone.

He would watch them go with a smile for them that would not meet his eyes and the knowledge that six more pieces of his soul would be scattered to the wind.

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Rupert Giles winced and leaned back against the tombstone. He was getting too old for hunting, he realized. But he and his Slayer had finished dinner at a nice restaurant and decided to cap off a lovely Chicago evening with a sweep of the local cemeteries.

Buffy slammed Mr. Pointy into a vamp and ran over, worried eyes already assessing her Watcher's possible injuries. "Where are you hurt?"

Giles straightened, wincing at the soreness at the back of his head. "I'm fine," he replied.

Buffy shook her head. "Come on, Watcher o' mine," she murmured, slipping her arm around his waist so that he could lean on her. "We've swept enough of this town's cemeteries. It's time to get you back to the hotel."

Giles grimaced as they made their way towards the car through the graveyard. "You do realize that I'm not an infant."

Buffy chuckled. "Yeah, Giles, kinda noticed that."

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Lorne sipped his martini, watching Dawn and Xander working on cracking the security of Faith's laptop. The demon wasn't sure why the two noncombatants were trying to get into Faith's computer. It was doubtful to have anything of use in the effort to retrieve Faith from wherever she'd been sent. And if the Scoobies had really wanted to crack the slayer's security, they could have asked Willow to crack it.

Which meant that Xander and Dawn didn't want anyone knowing that they were trying to get into Faith's computer.

Interesting.

"What are you two up to?"

Dawn and Xander looked up guiltily.

Lorne chuckled silently. He didn't even need them to sing. Those two were so easy to read. "I don't think that Faith will appreciate you prying," he offered, claiming a seat between the humans. "Now, let a master take a stab at this." The green demon set the martini glass on the table and flexed his fingers. Yes, Willow was the computer diva but Lorne had seen inside Faith's head. And since the formerly dark slayer was currently in another dimension, Lorne had little to fear from a brief invasion of privacy.

Long fingers danced over the keyboard. Moments later music blared from the speakers and the screensaver kicked in.

"Only Faith would have weapons as her screensaver."

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"I'm telling you, that little slut did something to me."

Marius lifted an eyebrow as Lucius motioned to Faith, who was clearing the cups from another table. "Lucius, she's a tiny thing. What could she have done to you?"

Lucius glowered at his friend. "I don't know. But she kept me from having Bors's whore."

Marius shrugged. "Lucius, you were drunk. And if it's company you want, just take her."

Both men watched Faith nearing them, oblivious to their conversation.

"Aye, but we could share."

The men nodded to one another. They watched as Faith continued to clear tables, setting the wooden bowls and cups in the basket she carried. Each twitch of her hips made other parts of their anatomies twitch.

"I wonder what the rest of her looks like."

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"Home."

Dagonet offered a tiny smile to Bors. After the devastation of the Saxons, was it any wonder the way that Bors always returned to Vanora with a passion beyond words? So many times he'd watched Bors cling to his woman as if she was his port in a storm. And she held tight to Bors the same way.

Lancelot kneed his horse into line with the two oldest knights, flashing a smile at Bors. "Aye, and Vanora'll be waiting breathlessly for me."

Bors grinned back. "My Van's got too much taste for the likes of you."

Lancelot chuckled and clucked his horse forward again until he had fallen in step with their commander.

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"Come on, love. Give us a kiss."

"You have got to be kidding me," replied Faith, eyes moving from between the two Romans. "You two are about sixteen hundred years from dental care. And let's not even get started on the body odor." She waved at them dismissively and turned back to the bowls she was stacking.

Arms wrapped around her, sending the bowls clattering to the floor. "Ah, love, you need to learn some manners."

Faith grinned, slamming her head back into the man's nose and cracking his nose. The arms around her slackened and she spun away from the now bleeding Roman.

"I'll have you flogged for that!" sputtered Marius, one of his hands cupping his bleeding nose.

"Wah-wah-wah," murmured Faith, already turning her dark eyes to Lucius, the man who had attacked Vanora. The man who had collapsed in the alley at her hands. "What do you want, tough guy?"

Lucius cast a glance at Marius before lunging at Faith.

Faith sidestepped the Roman, watching with a satisfied smirk as Vanora's attacker impacted with the table with a sickening crunch.

"What is going on here?" came a shout from the doorway.

Faith turned, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet with her fists at the ready in front of her. A Roman officer stood in the doorway of the tavern, dark eyes taking in two Roman soldiers on the ground and one petite woman standing over them. "Just taking out the trash," she replied lightly.

The Roman's frown deepened. "Attacking a Roman officer is punishable by death, woman."

Faith shrugged, not leaving her defensive stance. "What about defending against Roman scum?"

The Roman stepped within the tavern, noting that the dark haired woman did not lessen her stance. "Defending from what, precisely?"

Faith toed Lucius's shoulder where he lay moaning on the floor. "This one attacked the tavern owner. And she's got the bruises to prove it. But she's not some good Roman matron so she's not going to even try to level a charge like that. Then these two," she kicked lightly at the softly cursing Marius, "decide that I'm going to be their next toy but for these two mental giants they decide two heads are always better than one. Sorry, but I ain't no one's bitch."

The Roman officer nodded thoughtfully. "Marius, Lucius, on your feet."

The two Roman soldiers grumblingly got themselves righted.

Turning to the Roman soldiers, the officer glared at them both. "You will both report to me at dawn. We are going hunting for Woads. Now go."

Faith waited as the two pale Roman soldiers left the tavern, then turned to the Roman officer. "Thanks. Um, mind if I know your name?"

The Roman smiled tiredly. "Maxentius Vorenus. Though I do not think you will be thanking me long, lady. To lay a hand on a Roman officer is punishable by death. Their actions mitigate it somewhat, but I have no choice. You will be flogged at dawn."

Faith's smile slipped. "You and what army?" she asked sweetly.

Maxentius Vorenus nodded. "If need be, the whole Roman army. I swear that it will be ten lashes and that you will live. But order must be maintained."

Faith glared at the Roman officer. "So you're letting those two off with a little Woad hunting?"

Maxentius Vorenus offered a sad smile. "I'm letting them off with a likely death sentence, girl. Now rest. I will come for you in the morning."

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Thank you! And no worries about not reviewing--I understand all about hectic. And thank you--it's nice to know that I'm not the only one sneaking in a few moments of writing at the oddest moments. I'm feeling a bit guilty about hurting Vanora but hopefully I'll make it up to her soon. And, yeah, Kennedy might be right. And Willow may have to make a choice down the road. You're right, Faith may choose to stay, though this story is writing itself so I honestly have no idea how it will end. Thank you--your comments have kept me going with this story. And at least my daughter seems to be getting the message that Mommy will not have bedtime dictated. All right, yeah, I'm reaching.

Samantha: Yay! Thank you. And glad that you enjoyed how Faith dealt with the Roman. Here's more!

Saxongirl345: So glad. Sorry it took me so long to update but here's more. And more's coming.

Amanda: So glad that you're enjoying so far. And I'm right there with you--Faith is definitely my favorite. Here's more and I'll try to bring more soon.

hazelelf1183: Thank you. Yes, Faith does have a very interesting mind. And here's more.

lysia1982: So glad that you're enjoying. Hopefully I don't disappoint. Here's more. And more is coming.

Aria DeLoncray: Thank you. Here's more and more is coming.


	12. Chapter 12

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you so much. And thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I am so sorry that it took me so long to update. Between work, life, my daughter, and everything else, I've been swamped. However, I promise to try harder not to leave my work so long. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Twelve: Lash**

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"Faith, you don't have to do this."

Faith looked up from fastening the shift that she would be wearing for the flogging. It was simple homespun cloth that would shred with difficulty. Though if the Romans used a whip with metal barbs at the end like she'd seen in that museum with Giles, all bets were off. "Um, Van, kinda do."

Vanora shook her head, arms hugging her own torso. "Plead your belly. Do what you must. We can appeal to Arthur when he returns."

Faith chuckled darkly, pulling on her cloak over the shift. Never before had anyone worked so hard to keep the slayer from paying for her actions. "Van, this won't be the first time I've ever taken a beating. At least this time it's for a reason that I can stomach."

Vanora stepped into the small room she'd given Faith. She cast her dark eyes around the space that her dark-haired friend occupied. There was not much to show that Faith even called this cell home. There was a small bundle of wildflowers on the sill of the window that Eight had given to Faith. The clothes that Vanora had gifted lay neatly folded on the small bureau. Other than that, however, Faith might never have lived in this room. "I am to blame."

Faith stilled, dark eyes searching. "Van, look at me. You are not to blame for any of this. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And as for the two guys I took care of? I'd do it again." She pulled the redhead into a hug. Pulling away, she offered a crooked smile. "Come on, I think I hear that Maxentius guy at the door."

Vanora offered a puzzled frown and started to shake her head. A quick bang of fist hitting wood stopped her. "How--?" she began.

Faith grinned. "Mad skills, sista. Mad skills. Come on."

The two women walked arm in arm through the tavern to the door and unlatched it. Maxentius Vorenus stood on the doorstep, watching Faith. "Vanora, there is no need for you to come watch. I will return her here when the flogging is complete."

Vanora shook her head stubbornly. "Sir, she did nothing wrong."

Maxentius Vorenus watched Faith's closed expression and turned to Vanora. "Lady, I understand. And if it were within my power, I would spare her. But the two men she assaulted have already gone to the fort's commander. We have no choice save in how harsh the punishment should be. I have already said ten lashes. It stands. Now, Faith?"

Faith Lehane stepped forward, offering a tiny smile. "Ya know, for a Roman, you ain't half bad."

A rueful smile was his answer as he led her from the tavern to the yard beyond. A post stood near the center of the yard, a ring attached to a spike driven deep into the wood.

"I will let you decide, lady, if you will be tied to that ring." He nodded to the ring, watching with curiosity as Faith's dark eyes inspected the wood.

Faith shot him a surprised look. "I can hold onto it."

Maxentius nodded and walked with her to the post, watching with guarded eyes as the slayer slipped her fingers around the ring above her head and waited, shoulders relaxed in preparation of the flogging.

Even though the sun was barely peeking over the fortress walls, a small crowd had assembled. At the fore, the two battered men who had demanded justice. However, the mood of the crowd was oddly funereal. Ordinarily there was laughing and jeering as the guilty awaited punishment. Perhaps it was the early hour. Perhaps it the fact that many of these men watching would be riding out the fortress gates to near certain death. Or perhaps it was because their commander would be doling out this punishment.

Maxentius took the whip from his second in command and weighed the grip in his palm. A quick glance at his second told him that the young Gascon would willingly take this responsibility from his commander. Not because Gaius was a particularly bloodthirsty soldier but because the blonde warrior knew his commander not to be.

The first crack of the whip through the air silenced any conversations. The steel-tipped leather snaked out, tracing a thin bloody trail over Faith's back as it cut through the shift. Her hands clenched around the ring above her head and the slayer let out a soft whoosh of air.

Maxentius drew back the whip, again slinging the vicious braid of leather across the ten paces to the pole and lancing a fresh line across her back.

The scene was made even odder by the fact that Faith did not scream. The only sign that she felt the blows were the flexing of her fingers around the iron ring that was in time to Maxentius drawing back the scourge.

Faith stared at the wood, memorizing each line and whorl. She wondered absently if it was oak. It was strong and stained with blood, turning the timber leopard-spotted.

Maxentius pulled back the whip after the tenth lash, coiling the leather around his fist as Gaius hurried towards the slayer. He watched Gaius uncoil Faith's fingers from the metal ring. Vanora, who had watched the scourging, hurried forward, pulling Faith from the Romans and back towards the safety of the tavern.

"Mount up, gentlemen," growled out Maxentius, glaring at the two soldiers who had forced his hand in punishing Faith. From the paling of their complexions, he was certain they understood the commander's intent.

Neither man would survive the Woads.

Of that Maxentius Vorenus would make certain.

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Buffy leaned back against the wall, watching as her watcher and friend pored over information emailed by Willow. She had given up on trying to make heads or tails of Willow's esoteric thought processes. Instead, she'd tasked herself with checking in with the reformulated Watcher Council and giving them a telephonic update. Now she contemplated the diet soda in hand. It was better than dealing with the headache forming in her head after talking to a bunch of Watchers.

"Ever wonder how they can make Coke Zero taste like real Coke?"

Giles looked up, hazel eyes bleary from reading the laptop screen. "I can honestly say I've never given it much thought, Buffy."

Buffy grinned. They'd survived so much. Angel. Spike. The Hellmouth. And they'd come out stronger together. "Well, Giles, it's always a good idea to ask these kinds of questions. You never know what horrible demonic plans may be formulated with the creation of fake sugar."

Rupert Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose, his glasses knocked slightly askew. "Have you been taking something?" he asked cautiously.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she set the soda can on the bedside table. "Just for that, you have to buy me dinner. Come on, Bookman. Enough work."

Giles sighed, slowly rising from the bed where he'd been working. "Of course. And don't call me Bookman."

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Ylith stirred the concoction that the priest had put before her. It had the consistency of a thick gruel but it smelled of honey and cinnamon. The simple abundance of food in this time and place was enough to give Ylith pause.

Dressed in the strange clothes that James had gifted her, she'd accompanied the priest in his rounds in the poverty-stricken slum he was posted to. He had tried numerous languages and found that she could speak a few languages which weren't of the dead variety. She'd been introduced to many black-clad Irish widows as his distant cousin and had her cheeks pinched until her flesh was flushed as red as a rose.

The rumpled priest appeared in the doorway. The sun had barely risen and he was to speak a mass for the early morning parishioners.

"Why do you do it?" she asked, pushing away the now empty bowl of breakfast. It was amazing to not be hungry. "Bare ten people come to the church at all."

James shrugged and started towards the coffee maker. He'd stayed with the church despite its scandals. Made sure that he was never alone with any child, either boy or girl, and that he always had a parent or chaperone. It had been hard to be seen as a pedophile every time he wore his collar or professed his vocation, even though he'd never had any desire for any child. Hell, he thought with a growl, he'd been "reassigned" because he'd turned a priest into the police. "Ylith, I do it because I care about these people. And those ten people need this church."

Ylith nodded. There were far easier callings than the ones either had. "You've never desired a wife? A child?"

James sipped his coffee. "Yes. But it wasn't in the cards."

Ylith nodded again and stayed quiet. She could be patient.

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"Van! Drink!" bellowed Bors as he came into the tavern.

Faith looked up from the platters she was collecting, watching with dark eyes as the knights came into the tavern, escaping the cold of the night for the warmth of the tavern and its alcohol. She watched as Vanora strode towards her lover, her slap resounding in the night air before the redhead was pulled into a passionate kiss by Bors.

A sigh escaped her lips as she started towards the kitchen, wooden dishes precariously stacked.

"Envious?" came the quiet question from the scout.

Faith frowned. She hadn't noticed the scout moving so close. "Nope," she answered, moving towards the kitchens.

Tristan caught her arm lightly, bringing her to a halt. "Something happened."

Faith arched an eyebrow. "What might that be?" she asked sweetly.

Tristan slid his eyes to the worried expression on Vanora's face. "Something that has Vanora frightened."

Faith followed the scout's gaze. "Shit."

Tristan arched a brow. "What happened?"

Faith shrugged, wincing at the stripes which were healing still, though at a far quicker rate than a normal girl would heal and with no infection. "I hit a couple of Romans and got spanked." There, she decided, I've told the truth but I didn't say anything about Vanora. Yay me.

Tristan's jaw clenched. He had noticed that Faith moved with a carefulness indicative of injury. But punished? For attacking Romans? She was smarter than that. He met Dagonet's gaze where the giant was standing by the bar, glancing down at Faith. Any questions Dagonet may have had were ignored. "And you've seen a healer." It was not a question.

Faith winced. Dark ages medicine was not something she even wanted to consider. "No need."

"Tristan?"

Faith's eyes narrowed as she realized that she was cornered by the two knights. Bastards. "Hey, Dag."

Dagonet, the imperturbable, smiled down at the petite woman. His question, however, was directed to Tristan. "Is something wrong?"

Tristan nodded towards the slayer. Oh, Lancelot might not notice the wincing expression on Faith's face but Tristan had made the watching of Faith a near obsession. He knew the way that she moved when she was hunting monsters. And he knew when she was in pain. "She's been damaged. She'll need you to tend her."

Faith's jaw clenched as she turned to the scout. In her own time only Robin had either been brave enough or stupid enough to start acting like that. "I don't need tending--from either of you. So back off." She moved away from the two quietest knights towards the kitchen, back straight and head held high.

It wasn't until she set the platters on the table in the kitchen that she allowed herself a wince. Vanora had balked when her dark-haired serving girl had come back to work only a day after being scourged and it had meant that Faith had to be careful not to show that her back still pained her. Had she been home she could take it easy. Let the other slayers deal with the nasties while she licked her wounds.

But here she was it. The One. The Chosen. For the first time Faith was beginning to understand the loneliness of Buffy and the Slayers before her. Though, Buffy had had the Scoobies. And Faith had Vanora. It wasn't the same but it was right..

Dagonet watched Faith disappear into the kitchen before turning to his darker brother. "What did we miss?"

Tristan frowned. "I do not know. But I will find out."

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TBC...

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

BleedingTwilight: Thank you! Your reviews are always brilliant (as is your writing, which I'm about to go back and read). You're right, those soldiers certainly do deserve whatever they get. Hey, eleven children? Bors has to be secure after all this time. And Bors would have killed Lancelot long ago if he thought there was anything to Lancelot's teasing. And thank you…it's nice to hear support when it comes to life kicking my butt. More is coming, I promise.

Samantha: Thanks! Yup, Faith can't win for losing, or maybe it's the other way around. More is coming. And we'll see all of the knights and their reactions to all of the events that have happened so far soon.

Aria DeLoncray: I couldn't resist some pain. And more is coming. Not pain, but more story.

XXxDaquirixXx: So glad that you're enjoying this buffy/KA crossover. I know that it's been done before and it's wonderful to get that kind of compliment. Here's more and more is coming. And thank you!

?: It said complete because I was an idiot and updated the wrong story. Thanks for letting me know. It is now corrected and continuing.

hazelelf1183: So glad that you're enjoying and I'm glad that it makes you want more. That makes me happy. No, you're not greedy at all. And I'll be better about updating, I promise. Wow! What a review! Thank you!

Saxongirl345: So glad that you enjoyed the update. And not sure how Tristan would take it. At least I didn't make them all watch.

HellCat's Punk: Thank you! Yeah, figured that Faith would not take that lying down. And I couldn't resist having a good Roman other than Arthur. And we'll get some Faith/Tristan action soon. I promise. And more is coming.

Amanda: Thank you. I promise that I'll try to update sooner next time. And thanks so much for your review!

Dark Goddess of Fiery Tempers: Wow! This is such a great response to my story. I think you're right--Faith would be the one who would most easily adapt to the world without modern conveniences. So glad that you're enjoying and I promise to keep this story going.

SharonH: Thank you! Here's more. And I'll try to do better about updating. I left this story far too long.

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	13. Chapter 13

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_Author's Note: Thank you for your patience. I know that I have been horribly lax in updating and I will try to do much better. _

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**Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland**

**Chapter Thirteen: Cosmopolitan**

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Lorne sipped his Cosmopolitan, red eyes watching Xander. The eye-patch wearing, former construction foreman was currently hunched over a map, phone to his ear as he tried to give directions to Buffy and Giles. The green demon smacked his lips, earning a glare from Xander.

"Oh, come on, it was a joke."

Xander closed his cellphone and sighed, eyes closed as he counted to ten. Cracking open his eye again, he closed it once more and started to count to one hundred.

"Though I do think that if Blondie ever opened those blue eyes of hers, she might land herself a good chunk of England."

Xander slapped his hands over his ears, glared at the demon, and stomped out of the room.

Lorne chuckled, leaning back on the chaise he'd commandeered. "They never listen to the demon."

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Dagonet rapped his knuckles gently on Faith's door, listening to the sounds coming from her room. He had grown to like the dark-haired girl. "Faith, it is Dagonet. May I come in?"

A soft shuffling preceded the throwing of the latch and moments later, Faith stood before him, hair loose and tousled around her shoulders. "Hey, Dag. Pretty late, isn't it?"

Dagonet nodded and offered the barest of smiles. "Aye. May I come in?" he repeated.

Faith frowned, brown eyes shifting cautiously as she peered into the hallway. Nodding slightly, she stepped back and walked to the narrow bed. "Should've figured that you wouldn't take no for an answer."

Dagonet followed behind the small woman, carefully lowering himself onto the mattress. He pulled out his healing kit and laid it on the bedclothes. "I need to see the wounds."

Faith smirked. "Ah, Dag, is that fifth century foreplay?" She shook her head and sighed. "Right. Down to business." She tugged loose the robe that covered her sleeping shift. The thin wool tumbled to the ground. Turning her back on the healer, she held her breath as she slowly stripped the gown down her arms. The gown puddled around her waist, baring her torso to the healer's gaze.

Dagonet was silent for a moment. "Not all of these are new."

Faith nodded shortly.

Dagonet traced a calloused fingertip over the still red lines of her whipping. "Steel-tipped leather. Someone was very angry at you."

Faith nodded again.

Dagonet quickly set to work. He made quick work of the wounds, more than mildly surprised that the slip of a girl in front of him had taken a whipping that would have felled a toughened soldier and that she made no sound as he tended her. He knew that the salves and ointments he used stung. Finally, he wrapped her wounds with linen bandages. "Done."

Faith nodded quickly and pulled her shift up over her torso. She turned once she was covered. "You're a good man, Dagonet." She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

Dagonet smiled and rose from the bed. "And you are a good lady, Mistress Faith."

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TBC...


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